


Helpless and Holding On

by shlynn



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Feelings, Fluff and Angst, Helplessness, Hunters, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mountain Ash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-03
Updated: 2012-10-03
Packaged: 2017-11-15 14:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shlynn/pseuds/shlynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rogue hunters have found their way into Beacon Hills territory. They don't follow the code. They hunt to kill. Derek, Scott and Stiles have to work together with the Argents to drive them out before they can cause any trouble.</p>
<p>(The jar shatters and Stiles screams Derek's name again because it's everywhere, it's fucking everywhere and he was right, it's Mountain Ash powder. It's fucking Mountain Ash powder and Derek is right there and mason-jar-dude is scrambling up and wiping it off himself like it might burn humans too and oh - can it? Can it burn humans too? Because Stiles' eyes are burning. He can't see.)</p>
<p>In which Stiles is in agony and he doesn't know why and Derek is right there and there is nothing he can do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Helpless and Holding On

**Author's Note:**

> My usual disclaimer: I have never even SEEN Teen Wolf, so having any rights over the thing is a funny joke. I'm just here because of Tumblr.
> 
> That being said, there may be some canon divergence or inaccuracies, because, y'know. I'm usually just here for the fluff and the smut. This is my first attempt at actual plot, so. Oops. Also I don't even know if any of this is even possibly but we're dealing with werewolves here so cut me some slack okay? Ahahaha oh god here we go.

It starts (as _most_ bad news does, Stiles thinks) with a call from Allison.

He and Scott are "studying" - in other words, their textbooks are open and they're throwing Cheetos at each other while arguing over Super Smash Bros.

"Anyone who uses Fox might as well be cheating," Stiles argues, tossing another cheesy puff stick at Scott's stupid indignant face. "It's too easy, man!"

"This coming from the guy who uses Jigglypuff and Kirby religiously," Scott scoffs. He catches another thrown Cheeto in his mouth and Stiles grumbles an expletive about werewolf speed.

"Dude, playing with them is a challenge. It takes skill."

"Challenge, yeah alright. Maybe that's why you never win."

Stiles is on his feet, bouncing textbooks, laptops and snack foods around as he bellows,

"I never _win_ because you're a _cheater_ who uses Fox all the freakin' time!"

Scott scoops Stiles' laptop away from the edge of the bed as Stiles plops back onto his butt and they're laughing themselves to tears when Scott's phone rings.

"Allison," Scott reads off his call display, his voice reverent. Stiles mimics puking and Scott holds up his hand to silence him as he answers. "Yeah, hey Allison, what's up?"

His goofy smile fades within seconds though, and Stiles can hear Allison's frantic voice on the other line. He sighs and starts packing up the Cheetos for the road.

\---

Stiles parks his Jeep as much to the side of the road as he can, but the "road" is little more than a dirt path into dark forest, so he tries not to feel too nitpicky about the park job. He opens his door just as another car pulls up and parks behind them. He turns to Scott.

  
"I thought Allison and her dad were gonna meet us in the forest?" he asks, his voice a cautious whisper out of habit. He can't see who's in the car over the glare of their headlights.

"It's Derek," Scott says, closing the door to Stiles' Jeep and walking towards the parked Camaro.

Sure enough, Derek turns off his headlights and climbs out of his car all casual, like he didn't just give Stiles a freaking heart attack.

"Dude, what are you doing here? Coulda used some warning! I thought you were one of the freakin' hunters," Stiles hisses at Derek, then clears his throat. He's not sure why he's still talking in hushed tones.

"Scott told me to come," Derek says, and it sounds an awful lot like _"duh"_ , like Stiles is an idiot. Stiles turns to Scott. He just shrugs.

"Still coulda used some warning," Stiles mutters as the two werewolves brush past him and into the forest.

In short order, Stiles is kicking himself for not bringing a flashlight. But here he was, thinking they would all be stumbling through the dark scary forest _together_ , and he didn't want to be the one idiot attracting a bunch of attention to their group with a hand-held homing beacon. Now, as Scott and Derek stomp through the underbrush with absolutely no trouble, Stiles wonders if he isn't more of a liability when he's tripping over every second branch that both the werewolves ahead of him seem to be able to avoid effortlessly.

"Can werewolves see in the dark? I thought that would be cats. Werecats? Shit," Stiles mutters to himself as he feels his ankle snag on another botanical death-trap. He catches himself before he says aloud, _"Why are there so many freakin' roots in this forest?"_ because really, that's a question that is just too stupid, even for him. "Hey, yeah guys, don't wait up for me, no biggie, I'll be fine, just stupid Stiles blundering along in the dark with his stupid human sight, chasing after werewolf shit and freakin' magic because apparently my life is - oof."

He bumps into something remarkably solid and flails trying to right himself before a firm grip on his elbows sets him back on his feet. Oh. _Derek_.

"Be careful." Derek says, like it's that easy. Like Stiles was trying to bump into every fucking piece of the forest he could possibly come into contact with, plus Derek. He opens his mouth to say something, but Derek scowls and someone behind him clears his throat.

Chris Argent is standing there, looking expectantly at the two of them, and Stiles coughs and forces a nervous smile. Allison is beside him, quiver slung over one shoulder and her bow in hand. She and Scott seem to be trading some sort of conversation in silent looks. Derek straightens.

"So," Chris begins, and Stiles feels like he could cut the tension with a knife. Derek's "pack" and the Argents supposedly have some sort of truce going on, but man if it isn't still awkward as hell. "We have a problem."

"I've been told," Derek says, nodding.

"They're not with us," Chris continues, "They won't follow the code. They're here to kill whatever they find."

Stiles swallows and hopes it isn't as audible as he feels like it was.

"How many?" Derek asks.

"I spoke with three. There could be more." Chris says. His hand is resting somewhat ironically on the butt of his gun when he says, "I don't want to hurt them. I just want them out before they can hurt anyone else."

"Do they know about us?" Scott asks, and Chris looks to Allison. She looks nervous.

"I... I warned them," she says, quietly, and Stiles can feel Derek's grip on his arms tighten, which - hey, yep, still holding onto his elbows, cool. "I told them to leave. That we had it under control. That there was a truce."

"Not all hunters believe in truces," Chris sighs, "As I'm sure you're aware."

Derek nods. Scott and Allison seem to sink back into their non-verbal conversation. Stiles shuffles from one foot to the other.

"We don't know what they're armed with," Chris says, "But they made it clear they're armed."

"Oh good," Stiles blurts nervously, and he regrets it immediately. Everyone is just looking at him and he takes a moment to wonder what the actuall hell he is doing here, really. "Uh -"

"Let's go then," Chris interrupts him, mercifully, and turns to go. He motions for Allison to follow, who spares one more apologetic look towards Scott before she obeys.

Scott sighs.

"Alright. Allison and her dad are heading west, so Stiles and I can cover the middle ground while you go east," he says, but he's looking at Derek for confirmation and it's clear that it's a question more than anything.

"I take middle," Derek says, "Keep your back to the edge of the forest so you have one side mainly covered. They won't be in the open."

Scott nods and looks ready to go, but then he glances down at where Derek's hands are still holding onto Stiles. Stiles tries to shrug but hey, yeah, right, can't move his arms.

Derek looks meaningfully at him and Stiles feels like he's shrinking.

"Be careful," he repeats, slower this time, like Stiles really is an idiot. Or a child. Or an idiot-child. Which Derek probably thinks he is. He keeps this to himself and just nods.

Seemingly satisfied, Derek turns and starts marching purposefully into the darkness of the surrounding forest. Scott and Stiles watch him go and then turn back to one another. Arms freed, Stiles shrugs.

\---

They have been wandering around for two hours and Stiles wishes for three things: the Cheetos he left rolled up in his glove compartment, the bug spray he left on his desk so he would _for sure_ remember to take it, and most of all he wishes that Scott was never bit by a goddamn werewolf so they didn't know any of this shit existed and they could be at home eating Cheetos and swearing over Super Smash Bros.

But this is his life.

"Maybe they moved on already?" Stiles says through a yawn. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and squints at the numbers glaring at him from the screen. It's 3:23 in the morning.

"Allison gave us away," Scott says, sounding like he's apologizing on her behalf. "They won't leave with nothing."

Stiles nods and fights back another yawn, trudging dutifully after Scott through - what do you know! - more underbrush.

He's picking burrs out of his sleeve as he goes, not even bothering to complain about it anymore, when Scott's cell phone rings. He grabs it and has it to his ear halfway through the second trill.

"Allison? Are you okay?" he says, breathless, and Stiles hunches his head forward and holds his breath to try to hear. "Yeah, no, we - yeah but are you - Allison. Allison. Are you -"

Stiles feels the building panic roiling off his friend and reaches out to try to placate him. Scott shrugs his hand away and Stiles huffs.

"Gimme five minutes," Scott says, and hangs up. Stiles looks at him for an explanation and Scott writhes. "They found one of them, but he panicked and shot at them and got Allison in the arm so her dad shot one of his kneecaps out and they're trying to get him to the house to treat it so it doesn't turn into a bloodbath when the rest of them show up, but he won't go. Stiles -"

"Allison's okay though, right?" Stiles interrupts, and Scott begins to pace, agitated. Stiles shakes his head, taking a deep breath. "Right, right, uh, okay. You should - you should go, right?"

Scott's face lights up, and Stiles knows he was hoping Stiles would suggest it so he wouldn't feel like a jerk.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay, I should," he says, like the idea is novel, and Stiles can practically see the wolf in him howling, ready to run. "You, ah - you stay here. Just - I can come and get you really soon. I will. I just -"

Stiles begins to shoo his friend, which earns him a nervous grin which Stiles takes to mean _"thanks, dude"_. Then, Scott is gone.

Huh.

He takes a moment to clear the rest of his sleeve of burrs, muttering about super freakin' werewolf speed and how much tomorrow is going to suck. He wonders if Allison will even be at school tomorrow if she's been shot in the arm, then wonders if Scott will show up if Allison doesn't.

It is - he checks his phone again - 3:57 in the morning, which, let's be real, counts as 4. It is 4 in the freaking morning. On a school night. And he is standing in the forest alone.

Stiles sighs and opens up a new message screen on his phone. Screw this, if Allison and her dad have already made contact, he should be off the hook, right? The rule is one confrontation a night. Just one. Right?

Right.

Stiles is halfway through a text to Scott detailing all the reasons he is the best friend in the universe when he hears the crunch of earth behind him. He whips around, fumbling his phone right out of his hands and into the abyss of leaves at his feet. He drops to his knees and paws at the ground for his phone, but he can't find it and he knows he's making a ton of noise and he can hear people getting closer to him and he knows, he just knows it isn't anyone on his side. His hand closes around his phone just as he feels the cool metal of a rifle barrel against the back of his skull.

"This here's loaded with a silver bullet," comes a gravelly voice behind him, and Stiles drops his phone again and raises his hands slowly above his head.

"Yeah well, pretty much any bullet would do the trick with me," he says, laughing nervously. He tries not to move.

"Hm," comes the voice from behind, and then someone is at his side, yanking him upright by the back of his shirt. "Who're you?"

Stiles cringes as the one with the rifle and - oh god, wow, okay, terrible breath - takes a step in closer to look him over. He grins like an idiot, hoping maybe if he looks too stupid to shoot they won't, well, _shoot_ him. There are five of them standing there scrutinizing him in the dark. Five. Oh god.

"I'm - I'm nobody," he says, then kicks himself for the most suspicious Hollywood line he could have given. "I'm just. Stiles. I'm Stiles? That's - my name. But I'm not, like. Important. Like, I'm not anybody you'd want to shoot?"

"Hm," rifle-guy says again, then spits on the ground near Stiles' foot. "So what's Stiles, Nobody Important, doing out in the woods in the middle of the night?"

"Well, it's technically early morning now," Stiles says, then bites his tongue and tries to laugh but his throat seizes and he ends up coughing. "I was, ah. Looking for my phone."

One of the men behind rifle-guy steps forward and hey, neat-o, he has two freaking _machetes_ strapped to his back, which Stiles gets a nice look at when machete-man bends over and plucks Stiles' phone off the ground in front of him.

"Yaaay, you found it," Stiles tries weakly. Rifle-guy's face breaks into a sneer and there's this growl that sends shivers up and down Stiles' spine and oh god, this is the day he dies, he is actually going to die, he is basically already dead, and then the hand holding him up abruptly lets go and he drops to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

All hell breaks loose.

It's like slow-motion, and Stiles realizes rather belatedly that rifle-guy was probably not even capable of emitting a growl that fucking terrifying with his crazy smoker's throat and all, and there's this blur of black fur that is literally thrashing machete-man around like a ragdoll and all Stiles thinks is _"He had my phone,"_ and then he's on his feet and time goes back to normal speed.

Derek. It's Derek.

It's crazy-scary wolfed-out Derek and rifle-guy is firing at him but Derek's moving so fast and it's dark and they're human and scared. Machete-man is moaning on the ground and one of them is knelt over beside him and Stiles thinks he might be crying and one of them has either taken off or been eaten, Stiles doesn't know, but he's gone. Rifle-guy's gun is jammed and Derek is closing in on him while the fifth guy fumbles with a mason jar that he can't seem to open and it's full of some sort of powder and Stiles panics. To be fair, he's already panicking, but he panics _more_.

"Derek!" he yells, and he doesn't know when he got enough of his motor sense back to be able to walk, never mind run, but he's running, running towards _a giant freaking werewolf_ , and Derek is still snarling when he turns to look at him and Stiles just shoves his big meaty dog-head out of the way and fucking tackles mason-jar-dude to the ground.

The jar shatters and Stiles screams Derek's name again because it's everywhere, it's fucking everywhere and he was right, it's Mountain Ash powder. It's fucking Mountain Ash powder and Derek is right there and mason-jar-dude is scrambling up and wiping it off himself like it might burn humans too and oh - can it? Can it burn humans too? Because Stiles' eyes are burning. He can't see.

There's some scrambling around him and it sounds like retreat. Derek is still snarling from what Stiles assumes is the same place, but the shouts and groans and swear words of the hunters seem to be getting further away. Or is everything getting further away? Stiles can't tell. Is he passing out? His skin feels numb. He wipes the powder from his face as best as he can and suddenly realizes he's gasping for air. Like, he can't get enough, can't breathe. What is happening?

"Stiles," Derek's voice is still mostly a growl but it's _words_ at least, so Stiles knows he's shifting back. He hears the hesitant crunch of leaves as Derek moves towards him, he thinks, but then there's no movement for a minute and Derek lets out a whine that is mostly wolf again. "Stiles."

"Derek," he gropes around, trying to get up, but man he just wants air, needs some air. Please. Why can't he breathe? "Derek, why is it - I thought - just werewolves."

"Mountain Ash," Derek confirms, and Stiles knows now why Derek can't come to his side. Stiles is covered in it. But why is it burning? Why is it -

"Am I a werewolf?" he wheezes. "Why does it hurt?"

"Stiles," Derek whines again, and then there's a frustrated snarl and Derekmust have shifted again because this _howl_ just rips out of him and rattles Stiles' bones.

"My eyes," Stiles chokes, and maybe he should be trying to save his breath, but he is sort of freaking out. It's not helping. He needs more air. "What..."

He passes out.

\---

When he wakes up, he can hear buzzing and beeping and footsteps on tile. Wherever he is, it's bright as hell behind his eyelids, which he can't seem to open. He groans, which just makes him aware of how dry his freaking throat is, and his arms feel like lead when he lifts them to his face.

There's urgent whispering a little ways away from him and the footsteps head his way.

Stiles' fingers come into contact with some sort of crust surrounding his eyes, trapped in his lashes and oh, yeah wow, okay, his eyes are legitimately glued shut with whatever this crap is. Neat-o. He picks it off sluggishly, undoubtedly taking a few lashes with him, and is eventually able to peel his eyes open.

Wow, it's bright.

He's in a hospital bed, he realizes. There is an IV in his arm and oh, hi fucking _everybody_ , when did you get here? _When did I get here?_

"What..." he starts, shaking his head, and his dad squares his shoulders and sighs through his nose. Scott and Allison exchange glances and even Chris Argent, in the background, lets out a breath.

"I got a call from Mr. Argent at 4:30 AM this morning," his dad starts, and Stiles cringes. "Saying he gets a knock on his door in the middle of the night and it's you and Scott having gone out for a midnight stroll."

Stiles tries to laugh nervously and it turns into a cough. His father hands him a glass of water and patiently waits for him to finish coughing and drinking before continuing.

How gracious.

"And on this midnight stroll," the Sherriff continues, sparing a glance at Scott as well, "You managed to blunder into some _Sorbus Scopulina_. Do you know what that is, Stiles?"

_Mountain Ash_ , Stiles doesn't say. He shakes his head.

"Neither did I, until Mrs. McCall told me that you are apparently _very much allergic_ to it. It's Rowan and it's not even that common around here, but hey - you managed to find it. Congratulations."

Stiles shakes his fist tiredly in mock triumph, which Scott finds funny but his father does not, apparently.

"Grounded," his father grunts, as if Stiles didn't already know, and he hangs his head appropriately. "You're lucky Mr. Argent here isn't pressing charges for trespassing or you'd be worse off than grounded, Stiles."

Stiles shoots a glance to Mr. Argent, who nods almost imperceptibly at him. Stiles swallows and wishes he had more water.

The Sherriff gets up then and walks towards the door. Chris joins him at his side and they leave the room. Stiles can hear his father apologizing on his behalf and winces. Great.

Scott clears his throat.

"I'm grounded too," he offers, and Allison grimaces sympathetically. Her arm is bandaged and Stiles suddenly remembers that she got shot.

"Are you -" he starts, and then he's coughing again. What is up with his throat?

"I'm fine," Allison says, patting Stiles arm like it might help him stop hacking. "Barely grazed my arm. You're the one who scared us."

Stiles sighs.

"I'm allergic to Mountain Ash?" he hisses. "Really? Like, of all things, bam! That's the one? In my life? Why. Just why."

It's not a question, and thankfully neither of them answer.

Mrs. McCall brings Stiles more water and shoots and absolutely filthy look at Scott, who visibly shrinks under the glare.

Stiles isn't sure if he prefers his father's disappointment or Scott's mother's anger, but he knows which one scares him less.

"What even happened?" he croaks, and downs his water while his friends exchange yet more glances.

"We're not sure," Scott says. "I mean, I went to help Allison and her dad, but it was just the one guy there and we thought there would be more, but..."

"But I guess they were all in the group you ran into," Allison finishes.

"Oh, goodie," Stiles mutters.

"We were just patching up at Allison's place when we heard Derek's howl," Scott continues. "It was - he wasn't even calling for help, it was just like - just pure hurt."

"We figured he'd been ambushed... We sort of thought the worst." Allison says. "My dad and I were pretty much gearing up to help put him out of his misery if we found him and he couldn't be helped."

Stiles nodded slowly.

"But then we catch up to him and he's fine, he's totally fine, and you're passed out on the ground and he's just pacing around you," Scott says, and Stiles is a little - okay, a lot - embarassed. "I thought Chris was gonna shoot Derek right there, but then we saw the ash and your face -"

"It looked like a really bad botox job," Allison snorts, and Stiles groans.

"You were swelled up like a balloon, dude," Scott adds.

"Not helping. Oh god. Not helping at all," Stiles whines, covering his face.

"It was the worst reaction I've ever seen, dude," Scott says, shaking his head reverently. "You were barely breathing, just basically dying in front of us and neither Derek or I could even touch you. Chris had to haul you to your Jeep and drive you to the hospital and we couldn't even be in the same car. It was brutal."

Allison hums her assent, and then they're all silent for a minute.

"Oh!" Scott says, smacking Stiles' arm a little too enthusiastically, "My mom said you'll get an epipen now, though."

Stiles isn't sure how he's supposed to react to that, but apparently Scott is pretty excited.

"Man, those things are like pure adrenaline injections! It's like steroids, you'll be like the Hulk or something."

"Dude, yeah, awesome except that I have to be basically dying in order to get to use it," Stiles says, shaking his head and giving off _"duh you idiot"_ vibes as powerfully as he can. Scott deflates.

"I've never seen Derek like that," Allison says suddenly, and both Stiles and Scott snap to attention. Their gazes seem to snap her out of whatever reverie she was in, because she blushes and clarifies, "It's just... You know. Panicked like that. You know."

"Yeah, yeah," Scott says, saving Allison from her embarrassment in a way that he has never done for Stiles, damn it - "As soon as we got to the hospital he bolted though. Didn't even take his car, it's still here. Oh yeah, he couldn't even drive - I got to drive the Camaro!"

He beams and Stiles smiles weakly back, trying to think of something to say that isn't _"What?"_ or _"Wait, what?"_

Allison and Scott are shooed out of the room in short order by Mrs. McCall, though, and then Stiles' dad is back and paperwork is being filled out and epipens are being explained and Stiles isn't listening to a word of it.

_"Wait, what?"_

\---

He's discharged later that day and he drives home in his Jeep with his dad following him in his cruiser like he's under arrest. He's basically force-fed leftover spaghetti and then sent to his room to "think about what could have happened last night", which Stiles takes to mean _sleep_. Finally.

But when he gets to his room, his window is open and he knows before he even closes the door that Derek Hale is behind it. He still jumps, because Derek's stare is fucking off-putting even when you're expecting it, and Stiles is tired and spooked and he almost died, okay, he's allowed to be jumpy.

"Are you -" Derek starts, and Stiles notices Derek's arms come up and freeze like he wants to grab Stiles but doesn't know if he can. Stiles swallows.

"I'm fine," he says, slowly. Derek's arms stay where they are and Stiles looks down at himself. Where the Mountain Ash was covering him. "It's - it's gone."

Derek does grab him then, crowding into him until the back of Stiles' knees hit the edge of his bed and they topple over, and Derek is on top of him just _pressing_ , pressing down and Stiles can only grip the leather of Derek's jacket for dear life and squeeze his eyes shut.

"Thought I - thought you were -" Derek keeps cutting himself off and Stiles lets out a little whine of frustration by accident, then feels heat rush to his face. "Thought that was it."

It's not the level of explanation Stiles wants, but he'll take it.

Derek is nuzzling into Stiles' neck, letting out whuffing breaths behind his ear, licking up to his _hairline_ at the base of his neck and _what_ \- Stiles can't tell if turning his face away is encouraging it maybe or what, but Derek doesn't stop. His body, hot and heavy and fucking _stifling_ , is flush against Stiles, melting him into the bed and Stiles can't even think. There's stubble rubbing against his jaw and Derek slips his head below Stiles' chin and breathes in deep right near his clavicle and Stiles hears the most broken noise burst out of Derek's throat and -

"Derek," he says, and it's urgent and he doesn't know why, and Derek lifts his head and nods and then his mouth is on Stiles'.

Stiles can't breathe, can't breathe, and it's like last night but better but worse and - why is everything wet? And then he realizes he's crying, tears actually streaming from his eyes down the sides of his face and into his ears and oh gross, because then Derek frees his mouth and leaves him gasping as he follows the trails with his tongue and licks right into Stiles' ear. Stiles writhes and Derek growls and Stiles' fingers are stiff when he peels them from Derek's leather jacket and brings his hands up to the sides of Derek's face, guiding him back to his mouth.

Derek is licking into his mouth and it's the most intense thing Stiles has ever experienced, period. Like Derek is trying to crawl right inside of him and still it's not enough. His arms wrap up over Derek's shoulders, surrounding his head and maybe crushing a bit with how hard he squeezes. It would probably be uncomfortable if Derek wasn't a fucking werewolf, but then again if Derek wasn't a fucking werewolf then none of this would have happened, if werewolves just didn't exist then everything could just be normal and maybe he would have gotten his homework done last night and actually gone to school and not even ever found out about his stupid fucking _Mountain Ash allergy_ and he wouldn't have _almost died_ -

"I almost died," he hisses when Derek's moved lower to lick up his throat. He repeats, disbelieving, "I almost died."

Derek rises up again, slowly, and there is finally an inch of space between their bodies as he hovers over Stiles' face. His eyes are probing, looking at Stiles like he's searching for something, and Stiles feels his face heat up because yeah, hey, it's not like he wasn't enough of a mess already with the spit and tears and probably snot, so let's add some blotchy flush to the mix.

"I thought -" Derek says again, and then closes his eyes. "I couldn't - couldn't do anything. You were right there, and I - no matter what I did, I couldn't - I've never felt so helpless."

Stiles scoffs at that.

"Welcome to my life."

Derek sinks, slowly, so slowly, back against Stiles' body. They fit together, pressed flush against one another, breathing in each others' ear as Derek lets his whole body go lax on top of Stiles.

"I'm sorry I couldn't protect you," Derek says, so quiet Stiles almost misses it.

"I'm sorry I'm always so weak," Stiles whispers back, aborting his nervous chuckle when he thinks it might turn into a sob.

Derek is rubbing his nose back and forth against Stiles' cheek, and Stiles can't tell if he's actually shaking his head or just nuzzling him again. He doesn't think he cares.

"Thought I lost you," Derek says, still so quiet, staring at Stiles' lips.

"Right here," Stiles mouths the words, voice too quiet to even come out, and then he lets himself be kissed.

\---

Stiles wakes up feeling stiff but better than he has in ages. He's loathe to admit it, but he was probably overdue for a good cry, because let's be real. His _life_.

Derek stirs a little behind him, his arm tightening momentarily around Stiles' middle, but then he's relaxing again and Stiles turns slowly onto his back to have a look. Derek's face isn't exactly friendlier, but it's definitely more relaxed in his sleep, and Stiles smiles a little and presses his face into Derek's chest because he feels like he can.

He drifts on the edge of wakefulness for a while, warm and content until his stomach tells him it's time to get up. He scoots backwards and tries to sit up without waking Derek, but his knee is tangled in the covers and he's waving his arms and trying not to yelp as he tips backwards off the bed -

And then Derek has him by the elbows, suddenly awake, and Stiles squeaks.

"Be careful," Derek says, and then his eyes flash and he's gathering Stiles in close to him almost apologetically. Stiles laughs and hums and presses against Derek, feeling too sleep-happy to revisit any dark thoughts for a while.

"Right here," he repeats, and Derek smiles against his mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> JESUS CHRIST OKAY - so that got so ridiculously squishy at the end and wow it's 2:30 in the morning and evidently that is not a good time for me to be writing because what the hell even was this abomination, I'm so sorry.
> 
> Ughhh I usually try to have everything sort of come full-circle but I really didn't know how to have Derek and Stiles argue about Super Mario Bros. so it really just was not happening.
> 
> Wow this is super long and now you even have to read my shitty little author's note AHAHAHA okay I'm sorry, I'm sorry, bye.


End file.
